The Games
by Jessica R Vance
Summary: "Jim's belt made a tiny noise when he took it off, but Sebastian kept his eyes forward." Rated M because HOO BOY, there's a lot of filthy stuff here. MorMor, but if you're looking for fluff - or even affection - look elsewhere.


**The Games**

By S.J. Hartsfield, J.G., and A.K.

Sebastian secured his rifle on its tripod. The wind was high today and he didn't want to take any chances. The view across the courtyard was crystal clear. His eye squinted almost shut and he took a deep breath; the target wouldn't know what fucking hit him. Of course, they never did. It wasn't a bad way to go, all told; he envied them, sometimes.

He checked his watch - thirty seconds to go. The tip of his finger curled around the trigger almost lovingly. The sun beat true and hot on his head. Twenty seconds. Ten. And...

He loved the sound a silencer made.

The wind stole away the whiff of gunpowder, the satisfying burn, from his nostrils. Normally, he liked to linger just for a moment, quietly celebrating a job well done. But not today. By the time he got back to his car, his mobile was already going. "I'm on my way," was all he said and threw the phone against the passenger seat.

He'd never driven so fast.

* * *

He knew before he opened the door to his hotel room that Jim would be there waiting for him.

"Boss."

"Is it done?"

"You know it is."

They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment, Jim's eyes simmering across the ridiculous coffee table. Seb hadn't even had a chance to put down his gun bag. Jim's cool grey suit reflected what little light was in the room. "Tell me, Sebastian," he began. "Do you know what day it is?"

Something in the back of his mind ground to life. "Uh..." he said, momentarily stymied. "Thursday?"

A twisted little grin - the man never smiled, not really - played at the corners of Jim's mouth. "Come here, Sebastian."

The toes of his shoes stopped just before Jim's (and thank fuck because if he'd dared touch even the toe of his shoe without permission, so help him). He studied the smaller man's face, unflinching and intentionally flawless.

Jim raised a hand - a delicate, five-point promise of pain, and scraped his nails down Sebastian's cheek. It didn't break the skin, but there would be marks there for ten, maybe twenty minutes.

Seb didn't even blink. It would have been… inadvisable… to do so.

Jim's belt made a tiny noise when he took it off, but Sebastian kept his eyes forward. Jim dragged the leather across his other cheek, down his neck before suddenly slapping it across his chest. Even against layers of clothing, it made a delicious, raw _crack_ when it hit. He pressed his tongue against the back of his front lower teeth, hard, and it made the muscles in his jaw tighten. He kept his eyes on Jim's. He would_ not_ look away.

The belt was around Seb's neck now. Jim tightened it, slowly. Slowly.

His hooded black eyes locked on Seb's as he whispered "Can" - tighter- "you guess" -tighter- "what Daddy" -tight as it would go- "wants to do?"

He had a few ideas but air and articulation were both scarce at the moment. "Well?" Jim barked and smacked a hand across his already purpling cheek: a real bitchslap if ever there was one.

"F-" he tried, and gagged on the word. "_Fck_," he amended. Apparently that was close enough. The belt was loosened; Jim must want him conscious today. At least at the start.

Jim took off his coat and laid it across a chair reverently. He did the same with his shirt, but kept his lavender tie on. Interesting, thought Seb as he lowered himself down onto his knees. He was careful not to rub his wounds even though the sting made his cock throb. Jim hadn't taken off his trousers yet. He didn't need to for Seb to see that their states were alarmingly similar.

Seb didn't move. Didn't touch his boss. Just knelt there, waiting for orders; such an obedient dog. From somewhere above Jim growled "Do what you want, baby."

That was new. Seb's eyes flicked upward, met Jim's, and he knew. This was a trap. But damned if knowing that didn't get him just a little harder.

Seb stood slow and approached Jim, every sense scanning him for signals. For his part, Jim opened his arms and raised his brow. "What's the matter? Don't trust me?"

"Not so far as I could fucking spit." The reply came fast; the resultant backhand came faster.

"You'll spit _teeth_," Jim hissed, "if you don't get back down on your knees."

Seb didn't move. He felt like living on the edge today.

He smirked at his boss. "Promise?"

Before Jim could form another sentence, Seb had dropped again, open-mouth panting warm wave upon warm wave against Jim's fly. Jim leaned down and caressed Seb's face with the tip of his silk tie. Seb's hands snaked up the backs of his legs and landed on his ass, digging in. Jim sighed low and lower. Finally, Sebastian went for it, frenching Jim's cock through his trousers, squeezing handfuls of ass between his fingers harder and tighter and harder still.

"No," Jim growled low, in the very back of his throat, "No, more, c'mon _more_, you absolute _fuck_." Seb felt silk against the edge of his ear. He used teeth.

A long hiss escaped Jim. Seb felt bony fingers in his hair. Twist and yank. From above him Jim groaned

"Is that all? Daddy's not impressed."

Seb didn't know what part of Jim was between his jaws at the moment, but he bit down just the same. Jim pitched forward, forced to hike a leg over his shoulder, digging a well-heeled shoe into his scapula. "_That's_ it," he approved. "That's it, you greasy son of a bitch. More."

His fist curled and, without pausing to think about it, he brought it up into Jim's ribs. The air left his lungs with something like a groan.

The groan broke into a wheezing laugh in Seb's ear. The next thing he knew Jim had reeled back and was bringing the belt down on his back, the buckle striking him again and again and. Oh God. Again. "THAT'S the SPIRIT!" Jim roared.

The blood ran from wound to wound down his back; it tickled. And just as Sebastian was about to laugh, Jim bucked his hips, bashing Seb's nose up and into his skull and sending him to the floor. Jim stood over him, eyes big and black and undeniably alluring. He stepped forward and the carpet was so cheap his heels nearly _tick-ticked_ against it and then his foot was pressed against Seb's groin. He opened his mouth when the sole crushed against his erection, but no sound came out.

Stars burst in front of him. A familiar black vignette began to form at the edges of his vision. Jim's whine echoed in his head. "What's that, baby? Got something to say?"

His laugh almost sounded like a cough until it grew loud enough to fill his lungs. His sight restored just in time to see Jim's eyes narrow and Seb grabbed his opportunity. The melee kick hit Jim in the thigh and Seb couldn't help but smile when he noticed the stain his shoe had left on his trouser leg. He'd pay for that later. With interest.

Jim's face contorted horrifically into something feral. His lips pulled back to reveal sharp, clever teeth, and his eyes grew, if possible, blacker. When he looked down at Sebastian, the expression almost frightened him. Mostly it just made him throb painfully.

Then, as quickly as it came, the look fled. He looked mild. Almost harmless.

Seb's breath caught. God damn, this was his favorite part. He crept slowly back to his knees, not daring to break eye contact with Jim for even half of a second. Wouldn't want to miss this. Oh no.

Jim's hand trailed across his jawline smudging the blood that ran from the crease of his mouth. With his other hand, Jim snatched Seb's earlobe like he was picking an apple from a branch and jerked his head upwards. Swirling his index finger in more fresh blood, Jim opened his mouth, presented his tongue and, starting at the back, drug the finger along it, tasting Sebastian's heartbeat.

He couldn't help it. He groaned and Jim's eyebrow shot up. "Oh," he breathed. "Now we're getting somewhere." He smiled and _oh God_ Seb's blood stained his teeth. "Want some?" he offered, as though they were at a fucking tea party.

Sebastian made himself grimace. "I would," he said, "if I could stand to have your mouth on me."

Instantly Jim's hand clamped on Seb's throat in a vice grip, impeccable fingernails digging deliciously into his skin. He leaned down to breathe in Seb's ear, in a singsong whisper "Toooo baaaaaad."

It wasn't a kiss but a devouring, Jim gulping him down in rough, jagged bites like a starving panther. Seb attempted to wrench away, but Jim held fast to his throat, pressing in. He rumbled, "Unnnh-unnnh," into his mouth, a clear admonishment. His surprisingly strong fingers on Seb's windpipe were beginning to make him see colours behind his eyelids, explosions of deprivation. With his last bit of strength, he brought his hands up and buried them against Jim's scalp. He pulled. The near-audible _rrrppp_ was immensely satisfying.

Seb felt teeth sink into his tongue, tasted fresh copper as more blood filled his mouth. It leaked out around the edges of the unbroken kiss, trickled down his chin. The grip on Seb's neck had loosened just ever so.

It was enough.

Over they went, kiss undone, Sebastian now on top. Holding both of Jim's wrists in his hands and balancing a knee in the centre of his chest, Seb spit in his face, spewing blood and saliva from his forehead to his chin. "Now what, bitch?" Seb chided. "Now what?"

Jim's eyes seemed ringed in red with fury and, unmistakably, violent lust. Seb shifted, grasping his wrists in one large hand and fumbling for his flies with the other. He pulled his cock out and gave it three swift, slick tugs. His own blood dripped from his face, spattering onto the head. It smeared with each new stroke. From beneath him Jim rasped, "What've you got, hm? What've you got for Daddy, you miserable shit?"

Fully ready to press the gas, Seb let go of his cock and backhanded Jim and fought a strong urge to punch him properly in the face. Jim just groaned, the sick fuck, and smiled wider. Putting most of his weight against Jim's torso, Seb stared him down. "Stay. Still." Untrusting, Seb backed off and began unbuttoning Jim's fragile trousers. His movements were so slow and his cock so hard; his own breathing was deafening.

Jim didn't move.

The trousers came off. Wrinkled. There'd be hell to pay. He didn't care. Jim didn't wear pants, of course. They'd bunch or line or something fucking ridiculous like that. Seb grabbed Jim's prick and yanked. Once. Twice. Jim shuddered with each jerk. His bloody lips curled in a sneer.

In one clean shove, Jim was flipped face down on the carpet. His skin tasted tangy, sweat and aftershave or maybe body butter Seb thought as he bit down onto Jim's right shoulder. He drug his teeth along his spine, trying to bruise and tear where he could, to make it count, and finally, in the middle of the dip in his arched back, Seb got what he wanted. Skin gave way and James Moriarty bled for him.

He let out a sound like a shout like a whoop like a moan and Seb shoved himself against him. Jim was dry but Seb was not, not completely, and he pushed inside against all reason. Jim hissed into the cheap carpet and Seb started inventing profanities.

Deeper, deeper and he was in Jim to the hilt. He lingered there just long enough to mutter, "How's this, Daddy?" before drawing back and starting the pounding.

Harder and faster and slapping and bruising, thigh on thigh and approaching a second crescendo, Seb buried his fingers in Jim's hair, wrenching his head with every thrust. With his other hand, he reached under Jim's arm to his chest and made a hazy-minded attempt to pull his nipple completely off.

"_Fuck_," Jim offered, the 'uh' stretching like his skin was stretching. "Fuck you," he added, voice slightly muffled against the pile. "_Fuck you_, you can do better than that."

Seb released his chest and scrambled his now-free hand into his pocket. A pinknife. He flicked the blade open with his teeth. Palming it, he reached back around Jim's torso.

The cut was not an incision as the blade was flat against Jim's lower abdomen, but it sliced deep enough to matter. Seb timed his more violent thrusts along with swipes of the blade and even more sporadic pulls on Jim's scalp, encapsulating him in a sensual minefield. No escape. No surrender. He watched with something like half-detached fascination as a thin string of precum slung down to mingle with Jim's blood on the carpet.

"F-f-fuck!" Jim croaked, half his face crushed into the carpet. "Fuck-me-harder-fu-uck-me, Sherlock!" Seb didn't pause. He just did what he was told.

He dropped the blade, grabbed whatever flesh he could, and changed angles, left left left until Jim coughed another moan into the floor. There was a growing light when he closed his eyes, but Seb blinked it away. Not yet, not yet, not fucking yet. He growled, somewhere far down in his chest, and pulled out.

"No, NO!" Jim roared, twisting to look over his shoulder. He was wild, frothing, flecks of saliva dotting the barely-there stubble on his chin. "Don't you FUCKING stop -" Seb laid a broad hand against his shoulder and pushed. Hard. Jim flipped-fell onto his back, bloody stomach in full view. Seb pulled back.

His knuckles connected with the lacerations. There was a sickening _thuck_, like roadkill getting hit twice. He dearly wished he'd put on his brass knucks beforehand. There wasn't time to get them now. Digging his fist into Jim's blood-slick stomach, he used his other hand to grab him roughly by the thigh. Using that leverage, he pushed his way back in. Jim's eyes rolled back in his head.

He braced himself by holding onto Jim's shoulders which gave the added bonus of forcing Jim even further onto his cock. A fist, weaker than before but still potent, crashed across his cheek and Seb shifted, lifting one of Jim's legs to his shoulder. When he bit down on the meatier part of Jim's slender calf, Jim involuntarily contracted around him sending shockwaves from the head of his cock to the tips of his hair.

Jim's fist rocked against his temple again and again, losing momentum each time but still making him see sparks. To distract himself from the pain in his head and the excruciating pleasure in his groin, he tried counting thrusts. Detachment. He knew it made his face go slack and distant and he knew Jim loved it and he knew it drove Jim absolutely fucking bonkers.

The world was condensing. Shrinking down until it was just Seb's cock, ramming into Jim. He barely felt Jim's fingernails raking his scalp now, drawing more blood. Blood and blood and blood.

This was it.

Throwing his leg from his shoulder, Seb lifted Jim by the throat until they were face to face. He crushed their faces together, teeth banging, lips splitting, and finally, a ripple from deep inside Jim began to pulsate around Seb's cock. Jim pulled his mouth away panting, "Sher-LOCK Sher-LOCK Sher-LOCK," and with what would have to be the last reserves of his strength, Jim came against Sebastian's torso in warm, wicked bursts. Opening his eyes wide, Seb counted down in his head: three... two... one...

He blacked out.

When he woke up, Jim was gone. He'd removed his tie, likely because it was ruined with blood and sweat and semen. It lay curled on the coffee table. Seb pulled himself up off the floor with no small amount of difficulty and grabbed his silken trophy, twisting it around his knuckles.

The money would be in his account within the hour.

~ End ~


End file.
